


Duchess Fraldarius

by MagalaBee



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff and Smut, I love these two and I'm basing a lot of this ship-study on their canon epilogues together, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-War, feligrid friday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagalaBee/pseuds/MagalaBee
Summary: As the war ends, they find each other. In the wake of hardships and tragedies, they trace one another's scars and feel alive in one another's arms.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 28
Kudos: 122





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Feligrid ship, so this is my attempt to get some enthusiasm going for these two. Join me in celebrating FELIGRID FRIDAY!!!  
> Two chapters this time, and I'll have more next week!
> 
> If you love this ship too, please leave some Kudos and Comments to share with me your thoughts.

_“You can’t keep playing in the mud like that, Ingrid. We cannot risk you ruining your clothes, there isn’t money for a new pinafore,” her mother scolded, as she scrubbed dirt and grass stains from her stockings by hand. Ingrid felt a sense of guilt gnawing in her stomach. She had just wanted to play._

_“Sorry, Mama.”_

_Countess Galatea sighed and gave her daughter a tired smile. “We just need to have you behaving more ladylike. You’ll be a duchess one day, and by the time you have your bleedings, you need to behave like one.”_

_That vague timeline felt imposing. Ingrid still wasn’t quite sure what a woman’s bleedings even were. Glenn never seemed to care if she got dirty while they were playing, though. He and Felix always laughed with her._

_Ingrid rubbed her hands down the sides of her skirts, looking at her pigeon-toed feet and wondering when she was supposed to be more like a woman and less like a child._

_“I’ll do better,” she muttered, not sure what she was promising. “I’ll do better…”_

* * *

Ingrid’s legs wrapped around his hips, thighs squeezing tight as a muffled moan left her. She was biting her bottom lip, trying to keep quiet as Felix’s lips preyed upon her neck and their hips ground against each other. Her britches were discarded and her tunic unbuttoned. Felix’s britches were unbuttoned, and she had pulled his shirt off quickly, feeling every scar he had collected beneath her palms.

Felix had her hoisted up against the wall, both of them writhing and rutting with a hasty desperation.

“Felix--” she gasped, one hand sifting into his hair. “Don’t stop yet--”

As if he needed any more encouragement.

Ingrid couldn’t remember who had instigated their sudden spark of passion, but it had been born from a primal urge to feel alive and present one last time. The siege of Enbarr awaited them in the morning, the end of a war which had raged for too long in their lives. 

They needed to feel something human, both of them, and as she felt him push into her, tip to hilt, Ingrid knew that this was probably the best outlet they had amidst so much chaos. In this, they could take care of each other.

Felix’s teeth pinched her skin, biting at her pulse. It hurt, but was nothing compared to an arrow wound. She didn’t even flinch, instead savoring the way he worried her skin between his teeth, marking her for himself.

 _Good_ , Ingrid thought, _let death know I’m taken. Seiros can’t have me yet, I’m already yours._

His hands clenched around her thighs, his hips bucking into her with a frantic jerking motion. Whatever control Felix had was eroding in the heat between them. He growled against her throat.

“Fuck… Ingrid--”

“I know,” she said in a breathless voice. “I know…”

He didn’t have to articulate what he felt. She understood. Ingrid had always understood him, even when he didn’t want her to, and when she could feel his ragged breathing on her body, she understood the sparse thoughts going through his head.

They were both wondering why they hadn’t stumbled into this sooner. It felt like wasted time.

Ingrid’s climax caught her by surprise. She gasped and arched her back forward against his chest. She clung to Felix as a wave of overwhelming heat climbed from her knees to her thighs, bursting new throughout her body as it climbed and climbed. Her toes curled and she had to muffle her next moan in his shoulder. 

He liked having her helpless in his arms. One of his hands moved, sliding up her spine so his callused hand could hold the back of her head, his thumb caressing over the short golden curls at the nape of her neck. But he didn’t slow his pace. They weren’t done yet.

Felix bucked over and over in powerful motions. Like everything he did, he was fierce and fast and relentless. Ingrid’s body tightened and tensed around him, but still enjoyed the way it felt to be driven to the brink. To be claimed and cherished all in one hurried moment.

“Shit--” he hissed out another curse, on the edge as well. Felix let out a grunt as he pulled out of her, with only half a moment to spare before he finished in the small space between them. He still had enough presence of mind not to risk anything they weren’t ready to take care of yet.

The silence that followed was broken only with the sounds of their quiet panting. Felix’s amber eyes had locked onto hers and Ingrid couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to. She wanted to memorize the slight lines around his eyes, where exhaustion and scowling had left their marks.

She brought one hand down to gently trace the faint line of a scar down his cheek. Ingrid was smiling, though she didn’t know when she started doing so.

“Do you… uh…” Felix swallowed on air, but he hadn’t looked away from her. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“That would be nice,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Felix smirked briefly, his lips canting upwards in a short window of mirth.

As they tossed aside the last of their clothes and settled beneath his bedsheets, Ingrid noticed that the vigorous nature of their tryst had worn a small hole in the back of her tunic, where her shoulders had been pressed against the wall. The minty green fabric worn as raw and spent as she was.

Ingrid smirked and let out a breath.


	2. Part 2

_ Felix scowled as he tugged at the too-tight ribbon the nanny had tied around his neck. It made his shirt feel stuffy and claustrophobic. He pouted at his mother until she knelt and began to re-tie it for him. “You’re being fussy today,” she pointed out gently. “I thought you’d be happier, Ingrid is coming to visit.” _

_ “I am,” he insisted. “It’s just too tight.” _

_ His mother sighed and smiled a bit under her breath. “Alright, if you say so.” _

_ After a moment, he asked, “...Am I still allowed to play with Ingrid?” _

_ “Of course, darling, whatever made you think otherwise?” _

_ “Father said I have to be patient and let her and Glenn spend time alone together,” he muttered. “Because they’re going to get married.” Felix never knew when the wedding was supposed to happen, but it was something that he was constantly reminded of. Anytime his father spoke about the future for House Fraldarius, he always mentioned Glenn’s inevitable knighthood and the someday marriage to Ingrid. _

_ Another sigh came from his mother. “Your father is just worried about them getting along when they’re old enough to be wed. You shouldn’t have to fret of such things, though, all three of you are too young to be overthinking such things.” _

_ “Glenn already likes Ingrid,” Felix shrugged. “She ate a cricket last summer when Sylvain double-dared her, she’s the best.” _

_ That made his mother wrinkle her nose. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her that part.  _

_ “Felix, you can play with Ingrid all you like,” his mother assured him. “Just remember that she is your brother’s fiancee first. It’s why she gets to visit every year.” _

_ Felix nodded, glancing down at his toes. _

* * *

He played idly with the curled ends of her hair. It was rare that they both had the opportunity to sleep in, and Felix liked the way her hair shined gold in the morning light. Tiny dust motes floated in the air, and as they drifted in and out of the sunlight, they glimmered. It made her seem ethereal.

Felix looked at his lover, free of any watchful gaze. His amber eyes lingered on her chin, and the way her lips parted slightly when she was completely lax light this. Haphazard tufts of her hair were wild around her ears, mussed by his affections and Ingrid’s natural inclination to readjust her sleeping position throughout the night.

She was a restless, impatient creature sometimes. He adored that in her.

Felix let his eyes drift down, following the slope of her shoulder until he landed on her chest. The sheets had fallen down in the night and now, warm and cozy with the rising sun, Ingrid slept with her breasts bare. Modest though they were, Felix was still enamored with them. With all aspects of her body.

Ingrid was a beautiful combination of subtle curves and hard edges. Her arms were as chiseled as his, from years and years of weapons training, and her legs were thick with muscles from every one of her rides. But some parts of her were still soft and feminine. Like her bosom, pert and tipped with rosy little buds. He had the urge to wrap his tongue around them, but decided against it. 

This was a quiet morning, a rare treasure in their busy lives.

Since the end of the war, they had become key advisors to Dimitri, Sylvain along with them. As three of the highest ranking nobles and most decorated war heroes in the kingdom, they had little other choice. No one else would be able to effect real change.

Felix resented this inevitability sometimes, but acting as a general and councilor meant that he could live in Fhirdiad instead of having to run the Fraldarius estate. He’d left it in the hands of a trusted estate manager for now. He wasn’t ready to go back there yet.

As Felix twirled another lock of golden blonde hair around his index finger, Ingrid mumbled incoherently and rolled over towards him. He thought again about kissing her breasts, but was instead pinned by a flash of green. She’d woken up.

“Mmm… morning,” Ingrid muttered sleepily, her lips slowly rising into a smile. 

“Mm.”

“How long have you been up?” she asked.

Felix shrugged.

“So you were just watching me?”

Felix paused, briefly contemplating his answer, then he shrugged again. Ingrid gave a small snort of laughter.

She leaned in and kissed his cheek before she sat up and stretched her arms over her head, her back arching in a small clench. Selfishly, he reached out his hand and traced the base of her spine.

“You should marry me,” Felix said, his voice was stern and neutral as it ever was. 

Ingrid looked at him with a mixture of shock and fury. She didn’t usually like being taken by surprise.

“What?”

“You heard me, Galatea,” he kept tracing his fingers up and down her back.

“That’s not how you ask a woman to marry you, Felix,” she jibed. “And I don’t want to hear another word about me not getting hurt.”

“That’s not why I think you should marry me.”

A stubborn part of him refused to actually ask her, just like a stubborn part of Ingrid refused to wear a ring.

“Then why?” she asked, shooting him a slight glare. “I’m never going to be a demure housewife, and I don’t have a dowry.” Felix knew all too well how impoverished she was. Even with a commanding officer’s salary, she was still sending almost all of her money home to help supplement the new farming regime. It was gradually making progress in the region, but it left her penniless. 

He had never cared about money, though. He would have been insulted if he didn’t know how much the concepts of dowries and bride prices had weighed on her since the moment she was born.

Ingrid looked away from him a moment, facing forward as she added, “I won’t be a good duchess.”

Felix sat up then too. His hand stopped sliding up and down her back, instead grasping her chin and turning her head to look at him. They were both vulnerable then. Their hair down, their clothes off. 

“I don’t want you to be a housewife,” he started. “And I don’t want to drag you out of battle, you have proven over and over that you can take a hit and still get back up.” It terrified him, how many times Ingrid had narrowly avoided a gruesome death, but he had grown to trust that she would always survive. That it wasn’t always his job to protect her.

He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. Felix’s hand moved to the back of her neck, gently cradling her nape as he breathed in.

“I think you should marry me because I love you,” he told her. “That’s the only reason.”

It was a statement he had made before, between the panting heaves and moans of their coupling, but neither of them had ever said it so straightforwardly before. In the daylight, with nothing else to distract from the words.

Ingrid’s breath faltered briefly. “I love you too.”

“Then we should get married.”

Ingrid smiled, her cheeks rising in color to a deep pink. She reached up and held his cheek in one hand, her thumb tenderly caressing the line of a faint scar. 

“Alright... Let’s get married.”


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so we all know that there are a lot of Northern and Eastern European influences in Faerghus, but there are also many Gaelic and Irish ones too. To incorporate a bit of this, I adapted some lyrics from an old Irish song for this chapter. The implied custom is a new bride and groom having to dance with every other guest before they finally get to dance with each other, but this is something I kinda of made up based on a combination of many other wedding customs.
> 
> I just wanted to let everyone know that this is based on a real song, I only changed a few words to make it more FODLAN, lmao. Hope you enjoy!

_ Ingrid knew her father was losing his patience with her. She had gotten bored and impatient in her needlepoint lessons and purposefully sewn her embroidery hoop to her dress skirts so that she could go change into play clothes and sneak to the yard with her brother’s old toy sword. To her credit, she had been very careful with extracting the embroidery hoop from her dress, not tearing any valuable fabric, but her growing disdain for girl’s lessons was obvious by now. _

_ Count Galatea wanted his daughter to behave and learn all the skills that delicate noble ladies were supposed to learn. He had begun to question whether it was his own fault, for not using his pitiable spare coin on a governess. He’d thought it wiser to send her to stay with the Fraldariuses each summer, so she and Glenn could bond. _

_ He hadn’t realized it would cost him a proper daughter. _

_ “Again,” the count snapped. He could hear Ingrid huffing and pouting without looking up from his accounts book. “And do not give me attitude, Ingrid.” _

_ In the middle of his meager office, Ingrid was tasked with practicing her curtsy. It was a form of punishment for her, to lift her skirts and bow over and over. For him, it was a way to teach her grace and poise.  _

_ Count Galatea watched as his daughter slid one foot behind her ankle and dipped on one knee, her hands quickly lifting then lowering the hem of her dress. Her face was sullen, the ribbons in her braids bobbing slightly as she did. _

_ “Again,” he repeated. “And don’t scowl this time.” _

_ Ingrid groaned, the count turned the page in his ledger and felt a sense of dread. There wouldn’t be any money for wheat this autumn. He’d need to talk with his sons about staging a grand hunt. Something to help feed and distract their starving citizens. _

_ He glanced back up and saw Ingrid putting on her best face smile this time. Better. She was almost 10, she had to be better at these things. Once she began her womanly cycles, she’d be of marriageable age. They only had to hold out a little bit longer…  _

_ “Again, Ingrid,” he instructed.  _

_ “Father, my knee hurts, can’t I stop?” _

_ “Punishment is punishment,” he reminded her. “I’m sorry, dear, but you need to learn not to misbehave.” _

_ “...Yessir,” Ingrid muttered and sighed and curtsied again. _

_ Count Galatea could only hope that in the end, Rodrigue would still think her worth the high bride price. _

* * *

Ingrid let her head fall onto Felix’s shoulder. Her hair had been twisted into a bun today, rather than her usual braids. Annette and Mercedes had both insisted she look nice, even if she had still insisted on the whole thing being a small affair.

Neither she nor Felix wanted a big wedding. They would have eloped if they could, but Dimitri, technically, had to approve all marriages amongst the Faerghus nobility. The very thought of a large ceremony and reception had made Ingrid feel anxious and flighty, but Felix had been surprisingly good at planning the whole affair, respecting each one of her preferences along the way.

“This is nice, actually,” she murmured, her arm wrapped loosely around his. She glanced up at his face and smiled. “I like this. Thank you for putting it together.”

Felix smiled back. His hair tied back in a small white ribbon in his own attempt to look nice. The simple golden ring on his hand did the job well enough, though, in Ingrid’s eyes. The midnight blue doublet and silver accent pieces were just extra.

Idly, Ingrid rubbed her thumb over her own simple, golden band. It matched his. She liked knowing that.

“I guess I’m not such a bad husband after all,” Felix warned with a dry streak of humor in his voice. “I’ll have to try better to piss you off next time.”

In the end, they had chosen to invite only their friends. Felix didn’t have any family left to bring, and Ingrid hadn’t known how to feel about her own father coming. As much as she loved him, she knew what his reaction would be.

Pride. Not for being knighted, not for her serving as captain of the king’s personal guard, but for her finally being married. And into the same rich family he had always wanted for her, no less.

She’d sent him an invitation… but only two days ago. He probably wouldn’t get the letter for another two weeks.

This was better. Old schoolmates and friends forged in the war. Linhardt was probably only a few minutes away from nodding off at his end of the dining table, but Caspar looked prepared to punch his shoulder and wake him up. Lorenz and Ferdinand were discussing the finer qualities of Brigid’s tea, Petra chiming in to correct their pronunciations from time to time. Hilda was talking to Annette and Ashe about her latest designs. Mercedes was gently coddling her new baby, cooing and kissing little Emile’s head of fiery hair while Byleth asked her question about ideas for re-organizing the monastery system. Claude had given up on any diplomacy for the night and instead was laughing with Raphael about some old joke from their younger years.

To Ingrid’s left, Dimitri was talking in quiet tones with Dedue and Marianne, and on Felix’s right, Sylvain was whispering something conspiratorially to Dorothea. 

Altogether, they were only enough to fill the smallest dining hall in the castle. It was a square room with a u-shaped table that created a natural dance floor in the middle with room for feasting along the margins. Ingrid and Felix had both insisted that they didn’t want or need any kind of dance, they just wanted their friends there to break bread after they had recited their vows.

Without her noticing, Sylvain had slipped from his seat and circled around to the center of the room. He was smirking like the devil and cleared his throat to gather a bit of attention.

“Now, I know that our lovely couple of the evening had requested no speeches and no balls,” he began.

“Demanded,” Felix corrected, narrowing his eyes slightly. Ingrid chuckled and sat up straighter, giving her groom’s hand a quick squeeze under the table as she did.

“But this is Faerghus,” Sylvain continued. “And what would our people be if we weren’t stomping and hooting while downing in mead?” He then glanced to Dorothea and began to stomp one foot on the stone floor while clapping his hands in one steady, simple beat. Dorothea joined him immediately and nudged Bernadetta next to her to join in. She and Sylvain looked from guest to guest, spurring everyone to join the same vaguely familiar rhythm.

Ingrid suddenly realized what Sylvain was about to do.

“Syl, no!” she blurted. “Don’t you start this! I can’t dance, make your own wife do it!”

Sylvain grinned like the red devil he was. “Sorry, Inga, it can’t be stopped--”

And then Sylvain began to sing, spurring every other Blue Lion at the table to sing along to the old folk song that they had all grown up with.

“ _ I’ll tell me ma, when I go home, _

_ The boys won’t leave the girls alone-- _ ”

Ingrid shook her head slightly. “No no no--” but before she could say anything else, Dimitri had hoisted up the back of her chair, while Sylvain jumped forward and grabbed Ingrid’s hands, pulling her up and over the dining table. Felix barked something amidst the singing, but Ingrid was too busy trying not to trip over the table wear to hear him.

“Circle up everyone!” Sylvain ordered before continuing the song. “ _ They pull my hair and stole my comb, but that’s alright, ‘til I go home-- _ ”

Everyone who knew the words was singing now, in joyful chorus, and as they did, Sylvain spun Ingrid around, pulling her into a raucous reel.

“ _ She is handsome, she is pretty, _

_ She’s the belle of Fhirdiad City! _

_ She’s gone a’courtin’ one-two-three, _

_ Please won’t you tell me who is she? _ ”

Grace had never been Ingrid’s strong suit growing up. While she could hold her balance atop a horse or show expert dexterity with a lance, when it came to dancing and her feet, she was atrocious. It was why she’d never even tried to compete in the White Heron Cup ten years ago. Ironically, Felix had competed instead, and as he too was swung from guest to guest-- always out of Ingrid’s reach-- he seemed to be holding his own better than she was.

As the song continued, Sylvain handed her off to Ashe, who was laughing as he sang. His freckles crinkled with his smile and even though Ingrid stepped on his foot, she found herself laughing along with him as they danced. He kissed her cheek quickly at the end of the first verse.

“ _ Knock at the door and ring at the bell, _

_ Tell me true love, are you well? _

_ Out she comes as white as snow, _

_ Ring on her finger, bells on her toes-- _ ”

Next, she was passed off to Ferdinand, who didn’t know the song but had picked up enough of the musical beat to give her a quick turn. He was laughing and clapping in time when he handed Ingrid next to Dorothea, who was struggling a bit to dance, given how pregnant she was, but she managed better than most would and kissed Ingrid’s cheek before she passed her to Annette.

“Did you help him do this?” Ingrid asked as her friend twirled her. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Annette giggled, then kissed her cheek and passed Ingrid to Ignatz.

“Save me,” Ingrid said jokingly, laughing even as she was getting dizzy from so much spinning and dancing. “Ignatz--”

“Heh, sorry,” he shrugged. “Sylvain said it was tradition.”

“Sylvain’s full of shit,” she said, but he kissed her knuckles she was handed off to Claude who immediately swept her up in a whirl. The Almyran prince was too deft on his feet for Ingrid to keep up with, but he managed to keep her from falling over and pecked her head in the process.

“ _ She is handsome, she is pretty! _

_ She’s the belle of Fhirdiad City--! _ ”

In rushes of hopping steps and claps, Ingrid was spun and passed from guest to guest. Lorenz, Hilda, Byleth, she even danced briefly with Mercedes and the baby before she was pulled into Dedue’s arms for another spin. She was dizzy and giggling and her cheeks, hands, and head had been kissed a dozen times by the time she tripped into Dimitri.

“ _ Let the wind and rain and the hail blow high, _

_ Let the snow come tumblin’ from the sky, _

_ She’s as fine as apple pie, _

_ And she’s got her own love by and by-- _ ”

“Hanging in there?” Dimitri asked with a light chuckle.

“I said no dancing,” Ingrid whined.

“You’re laughing, though,” Dimitri pointed out.

It was hard not to. Even though it was completely against the parameters she had established, it was hard not to have fun when Sylvain planned something. He had a way of knowing how to make both her and Felix smile.

“ _ I’ll tell me ma when I go home, _

_ The boys won’t leave the girls alone-- _ ”

It was the end of the song now and everyone’s feet stomped in heavy percussion on the floor. Dimitri kissed Ingrid’s cheek as he turned her back into Sylvain’s arms. 

“Felix is going to kill you,” Ingrid mentioned to Sylvain. “And I might throw up on your shoes.”

“Almost done,” he chuckled. “I think you’re both going to forgive me.”

“ _ She is handsome, she is pretty, _

_ She’s the belle of Fhirdiad City,  _

_ She’s done a courtin’ one-two-three, _

_ My what a lucky lad I see-- _ ”

And at the end of it all, the dizzying reels and the clapping along, Sylvain kissed Ingrid’s forehead and spun her right into Felix’s arm.

She smiled immediately, even though Ingrid could feel the room spinning around her, and she clung to Felix’s shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her back. On the very last notes, Ingrid let her clumsy lips crash into his, bringing a roar of applause from their friends as the newlyweds kissed.

Sylvain was right. They’d forgive him this time, because they only had a week of honeymoon together before they both had to be back at work, and they had far more important things to do than be mad at their best friend.

As he held her against him, holding her steady, Felix murmured close in Ingrid’s ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back, still dizzy and grinning ear to ear. How strange it was, that in only a few months they had grown so comfortable saying that to each other out loud. “I’m glad we did this.”

Felix smirked, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. Ingrid was surprised her bun hadn’t completely fallen out by now. “No regrets?”

“None at all,” she assured him. “I’m glad I’m your wife.”

And he didn’t have to say anything for Ingrid to know that Felix felt the same. He looked at her, and there was a glint of something enigmatic and calm in his amber eyes. Like he was seeing everything they had been and everything they would be.

“What are you looking at, Felix Hugo Fraldarius?” she asked teasingly.

“A damn fine woman,” he answered.


	4. Part 4

_ “Like this, Felix,” Rodrigue corrected his son’s posture, lifting his right hand slightly to adjust how he held the sword. Felix watched, his eyes wide and curious. He wanted to memorize every little thing about how to do this right. _

_ Glenn was already a master with the lance. A prodigy in Faerghus. Felix wanted to be good at something too. Something different, so he could be better.  _

_ “Alright, try again,” his father told him.  _

_ Felix lunged forward, swinging the wooden training blade into the straw dummy. It hit with a slight thump. Felix pursed his lips together, looking at where his strike had landed. A little high.  _

_ “That’s alright,” Rodrigue assured him. “Let’s switch focus for a moment, why don’t you show me some blocks?” _

_ Felix huffed and nodded, changing his stance and moving to face his father. Rodrigue picked up a training sword too and made a fast stab. Felix jerked to the side, bringing up his own sword to deflect Rodrigue’s away. A hard whack resonated through the training yard. _

_ “Good!” Rodrigue smirked. “Keep that quickness up, Felix, and you’ll be untouchable.” He thrust forward to strike again and Felix dodged once more. Over and over, they traded blows and parries, and each time, Felix made sure not to get hit. _

_ He panted as he smiled and imagined himself as a knight of legend. The boy who couldn’t be touched. _

* * *

In one moment, Felix saw the way everything was going to end.

This time, the brigands who were trying to challenge the Alliance’s restored borders were organized. A far cry from the usual haphazard gangs who thought they could throw their weight around.

But it had been almost 10 years since peace had been restored, and apparently some of Fodlan’s scum had gotten ambitious. Had paid attention to who was on the King’s guard.

Felix shouted, hoping that he could warn Ingrid before the archer would let the bolt fly.

“INGRID, STRAFE!”

Whether she heard him or not, the weapon fired and it missed her pegasus’s wing. He heard Atalanta whinny in distress and for a split second, time froze. His wife was midair, suspended completely, an arrow in her shoulder.

If she survived the fall-- because he had to believe that the bolt hadn’t killed her-- then she’d be surrounded. Felix didn’t know if he would make it, but he ran before he could consider not doing so. 

Felix was vaguely aware that he was yelling for a medic, he knew she’d need one. His muscles suddenly stung with a sharp stab of strength and speed. The Fraldarius crest activated, he could feel it in the rush of adrenaline that got him there in time to collide with her body and keep her neck from snapping on the ground.

“Ingrid?!” Felix shook her. His wife’s blood was seeping out from beneath her armor, staining his sleeves. Her eyes were closed. He reached to check her pulse, but before he got there, he felt a lance swipe at the side of his head, missing, but not by much.

Felix took a breath and, again, the world seemed to slow. There were at least three enemies in immediate range, more on the way. It wouldn’t take Sylvain long to reach them on horseback, but that would still take several minutes. Ingrid may not have that long.

He muttered under his breath, summoning a bolt of crackling lightning down behind him. The lancer screamed. Felix had found his mark.

He placed his wife down, quickly pulling the Aegis Shield off of his arm to lay over her torso. Anything he could do to keep her safe from stray blows.

His right fist clenched around his sword’s hilt and he rose to face the remaining enemies.

One of the rogues was sloppy. He was new to his knives and Felix was able to block the dagger and roll forward. He swiped low, cutting the back of the other man’s ankle so that he fell to the ground with a scream, unable to fight but not quite dead-- he’d need to answer properly for his crimes.

“Ingrid, please wake up,” he tried again when he looked to his wife and saw her pool of blood getting larger. The panic rose up again in him. “Ingrid?!”

Felix knew that there were two others. He could see one rushing at his front and hear another rushing at his back. If he turned, he could dispatch the one behind him easily, but that would leave Ingrid prone to the swordsman in front of him.

_ Your life or hers. _

Felix lunged, taking a wide and low stance over his wife as he ran his blade through the approaching swordsman’s leg. As he did, he felt something sharp stab through in his shoulder. Amber eyes went wide and Felix forgot how to breathe. He felt the spearhead in his back but he couldn’t feel his arm, only see that it had impaled him completely. His knee buckled and he looked down and saw his sword dropped to the ground. When the brigand pulled the spear back out of him, Felix felt fire and tearing in his flesh. There was another sting in his blood as his crest tried to activate again and save him, but the adrenaline only pushed his blood out faster.

He saw red dripping down onto Ingrid’s face.

“Ingrid… Please,” Felix gulped, letting himself fall to his knees over her, like a second shield. He couldn’t let this man take her from him. She had to live.

As Felix’s vision began to go black, he thought he saw her eyes tremble beneath her eyelids.

* * *

Felix had no clue how long he had been asleep. When he woke, it was with a start, and the first thing out of his mouth was her name.

“Ingrid--”

“Stay down” Mercedes held up a hand to stop him from even trying to sit up. When had he been dragged from the battlefield? “You might rip your stitches.”

He looked at the room he was in and saw his wife in the bed next to his. She was sitting up, her arm bandaged and in a sling, but she was here. She was stable. She was alive.

Felix had never felt so relieved to see those bright verdant eyes. Those wild blonde locks unkempt around her ears. Felix let out a breath of relief and he reached out his arm to tuck her hair back--

Nothing happened.

Felix paused, his brows pursing together. He tried again to reach out his arm.

“Felix--” Ingrid awkwardly got out of her bed, stumbling a bit as she did. Her body had taken a bad hit, he imagined she must be bruised to hell and back, but Mercedes had taken care of them both, it would seem. Sylvain got there in time.

“Ingrid, I can’t--” he wasn’t sure what was going on, but she leaned over him, smiling tearfully as she pressed her forehead to his.

“Felix… You were out for so long, I…”

His right arm wasn’t working, but his left still did. He placed his hand at the back of her neck, holding her close and massaging the heel of his thumb against the nape of her neck. He inhaled slowly, smelling soap and linens, but not her blood. She was warm and she was alive and that was all that mattered.

“I’m here,” he whispered before he pressed his lips to hers. She pressed back, clinging with her uninjured arm to the front of his tunic. “I’m still here.”

“Are you ok?” Ingrid asked him. “You lost so much blood, I was so scared that you wouldn’t wake up…”

“I’m ok,” he lied because he wanted her to smile. He had risked everything just to see her eyes open and her smiling again. So he bumped his nose against hers, ignoring the way his body screamed for just a few moments more. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Galatea.”

There. She laughed. A choked little chuckle, but it still counted. Felix was able to smirk along with her for a brief moment. 

“Thank Sieros,” she blurted before kissing him again and sitting back to let them both breathe. “I don’t know what I’d do without your constant scowling.”

He glanced and caught Mercedes’s eyes. The healer looked concerned. She stepped closer to them and reached out to feel for Felix’s pulse, beginning to check on his progress. “What hurts the most?” she inquired. “I want to know where to focus your recovery.”

“I can’t feel my right arm.”

This was how something important ended.


	5. Part 5

_Ingrid clenched her fists behind her back, hidden in the folds of her skirts so that her father wouldn’t see such a sign of aggression while he was lecturing her. It was another scolding about how loud she was. How brazen._

_“You can’t keep doing things like this, Ingrid, it’s unseemly for a girl in your positon!”_

_“...Glenn doesn’t mind--”_

_“Not yet, maybe, but he will!” the count interrupted, running his hand through his faded yellow hair. More and more these days, he seemed to age before her. The crops had failed again in the spring planting, they were hoping for turnips to take root in summer, or it would be an unbearable winter. “You’re young, wrestling with your friends in the snow is childish and sweet now, but Glenn isn’t your friend, he’s your fiancee. You have to show him that you’ll make a suitable wife.”_

_Ingrid was so tired of curtsies and needlepoint and laughing small behind her hand. None of it came easily to her, and she always felt like a failure when she tried._

_“I’m sorry,” she whispered._

_“You should be. Good little girls must behave as such. You need to start thinking more about these things,” he sighed._

_Ingrid didn’t know what else to say, so she looked down at her shoes, feeling chastened and small. “...I… I’m sorry.”_

* * *

Felix was watching her as she got dressed. He often did, admiring her lean figure with a slightly possessive gaze that Ingrid found cute, but today was different. He was glowering at her, and Ingrid could feel his eyes on her back as she fastened her double-breasted military tunic.

“Tie my hair for me,” he requested, his voice flat.

“You know how to do it with your left,” Ingrid reminded him.

“Yeah, but you do it better,” Felix met her eyes and his gaze immediately softened. No longer glaring, just looking sad. “One more time.”

Ingrid smiled at him apologetically and walked to their bed. Felix was sitting on the edge of it, already dressed, but his hair still loose down his shoulders. She ran her fingers through his hair, skimming her fingertips along his scalp and sending a shudder down his spine. 

“It won’t be so bad,” she whispered. “It isn’t that long.”

“Yes it is.”

Ingrid felt a pang of guilt in her chest. She didn’t want to leave him, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Since the battle, they’d both taken a sabbatical from their duties. For three months, Felix had been recovering and going through physical rehabilitation to try and regain some feeling and function in his arm, and Ingrid had been by his side the whole time. He wouldn’t be coming back to Fhirdiad as a general… he wasn’t ever going to be the same swordsman that he used to be. So he had been convalescing at the Fraldarius manor.

It was their shared home now, with Felix beginning to take on the duties of Duke. But Ingrid was still the commander of the King’s Guard. She had to go back to the capital.

She didn’t want to leave him. They hadn’t been apart like this since before the war, and Ingrid knew that she wouldn’t sleep well during the four months she’d have to spend in Fhirdiad. Or any of the proceeding months when she would have to travel without Felix.

Ingrid leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his, brushing her fingers through his hair a second time. “It will be ok. It will be hard, but it will be ok,” she murmured. Felix’s left arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her into his lap. While he had made some progress with his right, he couldn’t move it much and his hand still shook with tremors anytime he tried to make a fist. 

But he could fit his arms around her. And that made everything easier. He could still hold her.

Felix bumped his nose against hers, pressing their foreheads together and sighing close to her lips. Ingrid was tempted to lean in and close to distance. To kiss him long and slow and occupy their whole morning with each other. She could straddle him like she had the night before, and give him another vision of sensuality and strength to remember her by.

But Felix had a meeting to attend, to begin discussions about changing and updating some of the dukedom’s practices. And Ingrid had to start her journey back to Fhirdiad.

“Tie my hair back for me,” Felix murmured. This time, his request was a soft goodbye that he didn’t want to say out loud.

Ingrid smiled and swallowed back to urge to cry. “Sure,” she said and kissed his forehead as she boosted herself up and moved around to sit at his back. “Any particular style you want?”

“No. I just like the way you do it.”

Ingrid’s hands were quick and practiced, from years of tying her own braids and buns and other styles into her hair. She worked quietly, petting his silky black hair into sections and beginning to set a simple plait. With the braid done, she twisted its end and then tucked it up under itself and pulled a ribbon from her own hair to tie it off. 

Green wasn’t usually Felix’s color, but she wanted to leave him with as much as she could. So she tied his hair up with a small knot and let the tails of the ribbon hang down his neck.

She stared for a moment in silence, fixated on the place where she could see the jagged edges of his scar peeking out from beneath his tunic on the right side of his shoulder.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he grunted.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like this is your fault.”

Ingrid paused, glancing at the window for a moment. The drapes were pulled askew. Felix had tried to tie them back with his left hand this morning.

“Isn’t it?” Ingrid whispered, her heart clenching in her chest. If she had been a little bit quicker, if she had dodged when he shouted at her instead of pausing to look, then she wouldn’t have been hit. She wouldn’t have fallen.

Felix turned and his left hand grasped the back of her neck, thumb caressing over her nape while he forced her eyes back on him. 

“These are my choices, Galatea.”

“I know.”

She knew that Felix would be a good Duke, even if he doubted it himself. He had strong principles and good ideas, he could start changing Faerghus’s culture for the better. His decision to stay was a good one, even if it had been spurred by pain and frustration and tragedy.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know you do.”

“I hate going back without you.”

Felix’s hand squeezed a bit, giving her a small gesture of silent reassurance as his thumb kept gently rubbing and playing with the soft ends of her hair. “You’re Dame Ingrid, they need you.”

Ingrid wanted to cry. But she bit it back and instead leaned in for one last kiss.

* * *

By the time she made it to Fhirdiad, Ingrid knew she couldn’t do it anymore. 

“Honestly, I’m surprised you came back at all,” Dimitri mentioned.

Her hands clenched in her lap, brows knitting together in guilt and conflict. “I’m a knight, Dimitri, I’m _your_ knight. I can’t just turn my back on that.” But she wanted to. She wanted nothing more than to walk away from it because once she had arrived and found their old quarters empty of all Felix’s belongings, she had felt her heart hollow out in her chest.

Dimitri sighed. “Ingrid, he’s your husband. You took vows. If you don’t want t--”

“I made an oath to you first,” she reminded him.

And for a long moment, they were both silent. Dimitri looking at his desk, thinking, and Ingrid looking at the Bliaddyd coat of arms mounted over the mantle, feeling like a failure. What kind of wife left her husband behind? What kind of knight wanted to abandon her post?

“For as long as I can remember, you’ve wanted to be a knight,” Dimitri murmured. Ingrid’s eyes drifted back to him, that feeling of guilt tightening its hold on her lungs. “I remember the first time you said it… we were five and you had beaten Felix at stick fighting and you said you were going to be my right hand.”

“I remember.”

“We’re not five anymore, Ingrid,” Dimitri’s blue eye met hers and she was held by his expression of understanding and sympathy. Of pride. “You don’t have to cling to childhood dreams just because you don’t want to go back on a challenge.”

“What challenge?”

He shook his head. “The whole world’s been challenging you. Ever since you said you wanted to be a knight, your parents and my parents and everyone else told you couldn’t. Even when we were in the Academy and you held your own with all of our classmates, you were still fighting uphill against what others expected of you.”

Ingrid looked down at her lap.

“And… I get it, I do,” he murmured. “But you’re my friend, Ingrid, before anything else. Felix is my friend too, whether or not he likes to admit it… I want you both to be happy.”

“Being a knight was all I ever wanted. I don’t know what to do with myself without that.”

And it was strange how easily she referred to that in the past tense. It’s what she wanted. Not what she wants. She didn’t want this like anymore.

Ingrid kept staring at her hands, hating the way she could flex and clench them both. She’d give up her right if it could restore his. “I feel like I’ve taken away his dreams,” she admitted with a whisper. “I wasn’t good enough, Dimitri, I failed, and now…”

“I’m quite sure that Felix would wring you out for saying that,” he mentioned. “It wasn’t your fault, and he doesn’t have any regrets. So why should you?”

“Because if I had just--”

Dimitri shook his head and stopped her. “...I’m still recovering from the things I did and the… the hallucinations I saw. But, Ingrid… I’ve learned something that I think you need to realize too. It’s selfish to take on all that blame. When you do that, you… you take away the meaning in Felix’s choices. He did what he did for a reason, and if you try to say that it was somehow your fault, then you make his loss for nothing because you take away his agency in it.”

Ingrid’s voice was caught in her throat. She stared at Dimitri, not knowing how to reply, but knowing that… he was right. 

She swallowed and whispered, “I think… I should go home.”

“I think you should, too.”

She smiled, a sad, fractured smile. “Are you going to be ok without me?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, and Ingrid believed him. If this had been several years ago, she might not have been so sure. In the early days, he had needed all of them there to help him stay grounded. When Sylvain went to lead Gautier, Dimitri had almost spiraled, always looking for someone who wasn’t there. But he’d made so much progress since then. He didn’t need his childhood friends to hold his hand anymore.

“I already know who will be your replacement,” he added.

“Who?”

“Ashe,” Dimitri smiled. “He’s been Dedue’s second for years, he’s earned a commanding position.”

“He’ll be perfect,” Ingrid’s voice cracked and she had to press the heel of her hand into her eye to keep herself from crying. It didn’t work. “Gods, Dimitri, I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life anymore--”

“That’s alright, Ingrid,” he reached over the short distance of his desk and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s time for you to find your next dream. You’ve already conquered this one.”

She chuckled on a sob, which came out sounding like a strangled hiccup. Something in her loosened. “I really did, didn’t I?”

Dimitri laughed too. “The best lady knight Faerghus has ever seen, and the most skilled lancer I’ve ever known.”

Ingrid wiped at the tears which had fallen down her cheeks, but she was smiling as she did. The tightness had left her chest.

“It’s time for me to go home.”

“Felix will be proud of you.”


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! This chapter has a bit of NSFW in it, but that probably isn't soo surprising, since the first chapter had it too. Just wanted to give everyone a head's up, though, so they can skip if need be.

_ Felix sighed as he balanced his wooden training sword on his index finger. He leaned his chin against his other hand as he did, eyes lazily following the slight tilts and wobbles of his training weapon. The faint shouting from the next room wafted through the manor foyer.  _

_ His father and brother were never subtle when they argued. _

_ “Are you waiting on one of them?” _

_ Felix looked up, but didn’t drop his balanced sword. His uncle was standing in front of him, watching the sword waver.  _

_ “Glenn was going to train with me.” _

_ “Mm. I think they’ll be a while,” his uncle glanced towards the study door and grimaced. “You want to go spar with me instead?” _

_ Felix hesitated a moment. He didn’t see his Uncle Paxton in the training yard much. Whenever the man visited, it was for some holiday or others, which usually meant they weren’t allowed to fight on such ‘holy occasions.’ His father had always made comments about his uncle, though, a man of excessive hobbies is what Rodrigue called him. _

_ “I’ll just wait,” Felix muttered, tiling his sword to one side and letting it slip down and into his hand.  _

_ Paxton nodded. “What are they fighting about?”  _

_ Felix shrugged. “Dad wants Glenn to marry Ingrid next year, but Glenn won’t do it.” _

_ “Yikes.” _

_ “It’s so stupid, Dad keeps making all these plans for after the ceremony, but Glenn’s going to be a knight next week, so doesn’t that mean he gets to make his own choices now?” _

_ Paxton clicked his tongue. “In some ways yes, in some ways no. I don’t envy your brother, just like I never envied your father either. It’s a lot… to follow in family traditions.” _

_ Felix glanced up at his uncle. “Is it better? ...Being the second born?” _

_ “I like to tell myself it is, but… mostly I just think it’s different, Felix.” _

_ “Yeah… that sounds about right.” _

* * *

Ingrid’s ankles tensed against his shoulders. That small squeeze as her knees bent and pulled his shoulders in closer. Felix smirked against his wife’s intimate folds. His left hand moved up to pet her thigh, soothing her impatience and encouraging her desire.

“Felix--” Ingrid moaned his name, her hands gripping the bedsheets in her clenched hands. “You’ve gotten way too good at this…”

“That’s not a real complaint,” he reminded her, his breath brushed over her labia before he dipped his head back in and roughly ran his tongue over her clitoris. Again, Ingrid moaned his name and squirmed, she was about to climax, her toes were curling, as a clear sign that she was on the brink. 

Felix squeezed her thigh and sucked, giving her a powerful note to moan on again. She called out to him in a whimpering tone, and one of her hands let go of the bedsheets to card through his hair as he lapped and kissed at her labia. She tasted like warmth and satin and her bitter morning tea.

“Felix!” she shouted again, her toes completely curled and knees squeezing against him desperately.

There was something so satisfying about making her helpless. Utterly needy for him. A possessive part of Felix enjoyed it when his wife begged for him, and he always felt a small burst of pride when she came undone.

She shuddered and moaned incoherently this time, as she tipped over. Felix kept working his jaw and his tongue, helping her ride through the ripples of her climax, but he took a slower pace, easing her down gently.

“Doing alright there?” Felix teased her in a dry tone as he lifted his head and looked over her body at her. Ingrid was still catching her breath.

“I know you’re just trying to bide time so you can avoid your afternoon meeting, but at this point, I can’t find it in me to care,” Ingrid commented with a smirk. “If this is how you plan to use me today, then I’m all in favor.”

Felix frowned as he shifted. He unhooked her legs from around his shoulders and lifted himself on his good arm to move up and over her, laying down at her side and slinging his right arm over her hips. He could just barely feel her body with his fingertips. Almost a year into rehabilitation, and he could finally feel the warmth of his wife’s skin again, even if only in some small places.

“Use you?” Felix knew it was a joke, but he still didn’t like it.

“Sorry,” Ingrid met his eyes and leaned in to kiss him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He wished he could shrug with both shoulders. “You need to stop thinking of yourself that way.”

Ingrid lifted an eyebrow and chuckled as she sat up. She propped herself up on their bed’s headboard and began to run her fingers through his hair. More and more in the past year, she had started to play with his hair idly. He liked having her help him with it in the mornings, and it made her more welcome to run her fingers over his scalp when they were alone.

He loved feeling that brush of her nails over his skin.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ingrid said. “I don’t think I’m thinking of myself in any way.”

“Yes you are,” he sighed, sedate beneath her touch. Felix let his right hand drift to her thigh, stiffly trying to make his thumb caress her back and forth. She was beautiful from this angle. Naked and flushed with her hair a haphazard mess around her ears. “You do it sometimes without realizing it. You refer to yourself as… I don’t know. Some kind of object.”

Ingrid snorted. “I do not--”

“Yeah, you do,” he insisted. “I’ve heard you call yourself ‘The Spear of Fraldarius’ before.”

“I don’t see what’s so wrong with that.”

“You’re a lot more than just a spear,” he insisted, leaning up on his left arm so that he could meet her eyes and hold them. Felix could see the contemplation in those bright green hues. She was thinking and analyzing her own words, and Felix loved how obvious it was. How she bore her mind so easily in her eyes.

He forced his right-hand fingers to curl inward, brushing his knuckles over her thigh.

Ingrid murmured, tucking long silky hair behind his ear. “I never thought of it like that before.”

“Not your fault,” he told her. “Your parents have done nothing but treat you like chattel since you were born.”

“It wasn’t that bad--”

“It was,” he insisted. “You’re not an object. You’re Ingrid.”

She smirked at him and moved, flipping herself over to nudge Felix onto his back and straddle him. Her thighs hugged comfortably against either side of his hips, and her hands balanced against his chest. The tips of her left side fingers drifted instinctively to the scar on his shoulder, tracing disparate lines tenderly. Felix liked this view of her, too. Shoulders squared proudly, bare breasts forward for him to admire, her hair golden in the afternoon light and eyes fixed on him alone.

“I love that after all this time… you’re still making me think critically about myself,” she smiled.

“I just want you to see yourself the way I do.”

Ingrid leaned down and pressed her lips to his. She lingered and sighed into the kiss, their lips only parting for a brief moment before she really pulled away. “I love you, Felix.”

“I know,” he muttered, pushing himself to sit up with his left hand as Ingrid straightened her back. He chased her for another kiss and took it quickly and selfishly, with his right hand moving behind her head, lightly cradling the nape of her neck in his palm. “I love you too. And I don’t want you to talk about yourself like that anymore. No one should think of you as some kind of tool. When we have kids someday, I don’t want them to think of their mother that way.”

Ingrid pulled back from his kiss, blinking in surprise. “ _ When _ we have kids?”

Felix paused and tensed slightly. They’d agreed that they didn’t want kids for a while when they first got married, since both of them were still on active duty. But it had been years since then, and they had never revisited the subject.

Felix glanced away for a moment. “If we have kids.”

“ _ If  _ now?” she questioned him again.

“If we want to,” he covered, bringing his amber eyes back to hers and holding them. “If  _ you _ want to.”

For a moment, they were both silent, looking deeply into each others’ eyes. Felix wondered if she could see the same things he did when he looked at her. He had always seen them happy, smiling stealing moments away from the hustle and bustle of their lives. But ever since they had taken up leading the estate, the things he saw for them had begun to change.

He saw them ruling together, much as they already did. Ingrid leading the Fraldarius local police force while he amended the governances and gradually became ambidextrous. A baby, who pulled on his hair and looked like Ingrid.

The silence was broken when she smiled tentatively and brought a hand up to cup his cheek. 

“Maybe it’s when,” she murmured. “When we have children.”

Something in Felix’s chest loosened. Something he hadn’t even noticed getting tight. He had no clue if he’d be a good father, and thinking about it too much terrified him. But whenever he thought about their future, he still saw that baby who had his wife’s smile.

In a practiced motion, he turned on his left side, bringing Ingrid with him. She let out a small yelp as he flipped her over and balanced on his left elbow over her. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, letting her feel his heat and his affection for her.

Her back arched up, leaning into the kiss and by instinct, she parted her knees, welcoming him to settle between her legs.

“Then I can be as late to that meeting as I want,” he muttered, lips trailing to her chin, her jaw, her throat. “Working on an heir is far more important.”

Ingrid didn’t have any complaints.


	7. Part 7

_ Ingrid thought her mother would be angry at her for staining the bedsheets. Blood didn’t wash out of linen easily, and they didn’t have the money for new ones. She’d hung her head low when she showed her mother the red stains on her bed and nightgown, expecting to be scolded about waste and the money they didn’t have-- the money they’d never have, now. _

_ Yet there was no scolding. No angry lectures. _

_ Instead, her mother hugged her like she was ten years younger, nothing but a toddler curled up in her lap. _

_ “Oh, Ingrid…” her mother cooed. “My darling… I’m so sorry.” _

_ “Wha--” _

_ “If only this had come a year ago… Oh, Inga…” _

_ Ingrid went stiff then, letting those words sink in.  _

_ If only her cycles had begun last year, when she was thirteen. When Glenn was still alive. When they could have been married immediately. Her bleeding every month wouldn’t have kept him alive, but it would have provided her parents with the promised brideprice.  _

_ Ingrid pushed herself out of her mother’s arms, looking away. _

_ “I’m… going to go for a walk.” _

_ “In your condition? I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ingrid. Why don’t I make you some tea and we get you cleaned up?” _

_ “I… I just want to go on a walk, mother.” _

* * *

Another sharp pain cut through her. Ingrid let out a whimpering scream, her hands clutching onto bedsheets and Felix’s hand. The midwives had tried to insist that the Duke shouldn’t be subjected to the birthing chamber, but when Ingrid’s contractions had started, he refused to leave her side. She had never been more thankful for it.

“Come on,” Felix murmured, squeezing with his left hand to reassure her. “Almost there, you can do this.”

_ No, I can’t. I’m not ready. Not yet. I can’t do this-- _

Ingrid gasped and shook her head. Her hair was still in a braid from that morning, but it had grown matted with sweat and fatigue and was a horrible, tangled mess. Her shoulders shook and drooped, leaning her whole back against Felix’s chest, his legs bent on either side of her to help hold her in a proper birthing position.

“I can’t,” she gasped between contractions. “Felix, what if I can’t?!”

“The hell does that mean?” he grunted. “You’re almost done, Ingrid!”

Ingrid’s eyes were closed as she tried to catch her breath, but she knew that the midwife and nurses were giving each other strange looks. Felix’s brusque means of communication didn’t always sound like affection to others. Sylvain, maybe, would have been a better birthing coach to have in the room, or Mercedes, but the timing had been off for visitors. She’d gone into labor early, when the roads between Fraldarius and Gautier regions were blocked by snow.

“I’m so tired,” she admitted, turning her head to lean it against Felix’s jaw. “I’m so tired, Felix, I can’t… I can’t do this… it’s too early, everything’s wrong--”

Ingrid didn’t know if Felix was as afraid as she was right now. During her pregnancy, everything had gone fine, and outside of the usual discomforts, she had handled it well. They had a nursery, they had talked about possible names, they had done everything they were supposed to as expecting parents--

But when labor started, she felt terrified. That something would go wrong. That she wouldn’t be able to do it and face the birthing bed horror stories that she had been warned about as a child. 

That she would be a bad mother.

“You can do this,” Felix muttered, his voice stern and commanding. His left hand squeezed hers again, his right could do little but lay against her breastbone and try to rub his thumb over her skin. “If anyone can do this, Ingrid, it’s you.”

“But what if I--” she cut herself off as the next contraction rolled in and Ingrid ground her teeth together, her shoulders curling forward as her whole body writhed and pushed. “Gaaaah!”

“The child is crowning, Your Graces,” the midwife said from the end of the bed. “Push, My Lady!”

“Felix,” Ingrid sobbed. She felt too tired. She couldn’t even lift her foot if she had wanted to.

“Please, My Lady, push, if you can birth the shoulders, then we can deliver the rest from there.”

Ingrid gasped for breath and shook her head slightly. She didn’t know how to do this. She didn’t know where to find more energy to keep going. She felt like she had been running for miles and miles and would never reach the end.

Felix hardened his jaw and gently hugged his right arm closer around her. Not by much, but his grip had been getting stronger in his rehabilitation and she could feel him trying.

“You have more in you,” he told her, leaving no room for argument. “Come on, Galatea, is this really all you’ve got?”

“I don’t think I c--”

“Shut the hell up, woman, I’m not asking you to think,” he snapped. This time, Ingrid could see the midwife’s eyebrows raise in alarm. The older woman looked like she was about to slap Duke Fraldarius, but Felix kept on, nudging her back and spurring her. “You’re going to push one more time, you go that? I’ve seen you fight through worse than this, don’t you fucking dare give up now.”

Ingrid gulped, her breaths were coming short.

“Push, dammit!” Felix snapped again, prodding her with his shoulder until she gritted her teeth and let out another guttural shout and tried, one last time, to push.

Pain seared through her, and Ingrid felt knives and fire all over her skin. But she kept pushing. The midwife and nurses were shouting something at her, but she could hardly tell what it was. All Ingrid could think about was how much it hurt, and how close she felt like she was to passing out entirely or bursting her own heart from the strain, until--

A sharp, shrieking cry filled the room and Ingrid gasped out a breath and slumped completely into Felix’s arms. Were she not already supported by him, she’d have collapsed to the floor.

“A son!” the midwife exclaimed as the infantile cries kept filling the room. The nurses hurried with warm basins and swaddling linens, all of them shuffling to tend the baby. “Your Graces, you have a son!”

Ingrid was breathing heavily and struggled to keep her eyes open. She had spent any strength she had in the delivery. All she could manage was to twitch her fingers in Felix’s hand, silently letting him know her thoughts.

And, being Felix, he understood. He kissed her head, swallowing back a heartfelt sob of his own. Sometimes, he was still a crybaby. “You did it,” he whispered. “You did it, Ingrid.”

She nodded her head ever so slightly, her breath gradually slowing.

“We have a son…”

* * *

Ingrid had needed several hours to regain any sense of strength. She hadn’t been able to move her arms at first, but by the time the afterbirth was taken care of and the baby was properly washed and swaddled, she could hold him.

Bundled up in linens and a cable-knit blanket to keep him warm, Ingrid smiled at her son. He wouldn’t open his eyes for another day or two, but she had a feeling that they would be green, like hers. His skin was blotchy and pink, but soft as cashmere, and tufts of inky black hair wisped over his head. A Fraldarius boy, through and through.

“Come hold him,” Ingrid offered, only able to tear her gaze away from their baby, they’d named him Svienn, to glance at Felix, who sat in a chair beside the bed.

He looked nervous.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You’re his father, Felix,” Ingrid reminded him gently. “You should hold him.”

Felix looked at their baby, asleep and calm for now. Cradled in his mother’s arms. He got up from the chair and moved to the other side of the bed, scooting in close to sit beside Ingrid. He carefully, very carefully, reached his left arm over to usher Svienn into his lap, making sure to keep his head supported with his good hand. His right laid to the side, largely unfunctional.

Ingrid watched, and she could see the worry in his eyes. She didn’t need to ask to know what he was so afraid of. Ingrid had seen Felix practicing how to pick up sacks of rice and flour with one arm for months.

“It’s ok,” she assured him, leaning over to place her head on Felix’s shoulder and look down at Svienn. “You’re going to be great at this.”

“How do you know?” Felix asked. “I could fuck everything up and not even know it.”

Ingrid paused for a moment. She thought of her own father. She thought of Rodrigue. And she looked to her husband again, watching him watch their baby.

There was a sincerity in Felix’s whole body. The way he bent his knees to keep Svienn from tipping over. The slight inward curve of his shoulders, ready to protect their child his whole body if he had to-- and she knew just how literal that promise was, for Felix. Only being a father for a few hours, Ingrid could tell that Felix meant it.

He was afraid of messing up, but he loved that baby. Without conditions or expectations.

How many hours after she was born had her parents waited before they wrote to all the noble houses they could, looking for a fiancee to betroth her to?

“You won’t fuck anything up,” she whispered, lifting one arm to gently stroke the backs of her knuckles down his cheek. “You’re going to be a good father.”

Felix turned his head, their foreheads touching and noses bumping softly against one another. “...You sound so sure.”

“I can see all the love in your eyes,” she told him.

Felix sighed and winced. “My chest hurts from it. I don’t think I can let anyone else hold him.”

Ingrid chuckled.

“I’m serious, I don’t trust them, they don’t understand.”

“Only us then?” she smirked. “Only we’re allowed to hold him?”

“Exactly.”

Ingrid reminded him, “Sylvain and Mercedes will be here next week after the snow clears.”

“They can’t touch our baby either,” Felix stated simply. “Sylvain can’t even  _ look _ at our baby.”

Ingrid laughed in full now, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. “Felix, you can’t keep Sylvain from looking at the baby.”

Felix shrugged and looked back down at Svienn, who gurgled and squirmed slightly in his sleep. “Just watch me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys for reading! If you liked this and might want to see more, then please let me comments to let me know. I think this is going to be my ending point for this fic, for now, but if I get enough positive reception, then I might write a bonus chapter or two, so please let me know what you've enjoyed and what you'd like to see!


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